Clove Continued
by JeweledSiamese
Summary: This is a continuation of my story, Silver Clove, and what I think would have happened if Clove hadn't been killed by Thresh.
1. Chapter 1

I take notice of the huge stone in his even larger hands. "Cato! CATO!" I scream, still scrambling backward as fast as I could, searching for a way out. A knife. I need a knife. I get to my feet and snatch one of the knives out from my jacket. He throws the stone just as I throw the knife, but the difference is, I manage to get out of the way.

He doesn't, and the knife pierces his upper shoulder. Even so, Thresh's still running toward me, not as fast, given the bleeding wound that's soaking his shirt, but fast enough. I'm not going to get away, I think, as I stumble and fall to the ground. I'm going to die here.

He raises another, equally heavy looking rock, and is about to throw when he's knocked off balance. Cato. He actually heard me. I throw a knife as Cato swings his sword and Thresh's cannon sounds loudly. I want to collapse on the ground, to sit and just breathe for a moment. But I can't. The hovercraft is already coming to collect his body. He picks up our pack and we head to the surrounding forests.

I lean against a tree and accept the water bottle he offers me gladly. "You weren't careful, you idiot", he says. Just hearing his wry sense of humor makes me hug him. As much as I can anyway, given that he's taller than me.

"When I heard you scream I thought I wasn't going to get there in time. I saw you on the ground and I thought you were dead". The thought that bursts into my head then makes me pull apart and stare at him. "She got away. She got away again!" I curse myself for letting that happen. "And she had the medicine for Lover Boy with her too".

Damn it. So now Lover Boy'll be healed and we'll have to deal with him and Katniss. Cato's face doesn't show anything, but I can tell he wishes I'd killed her quickly now. "Did you catch Five?" I ask hopefully. "No. When I heard you yelling I ran back". Wonderful. So this is all my fault.

On the upside, we killed Thresh. The biggest and most threatening competitor. "What d'you think's in the backpack?" I ask him. He opens it and we look at two bodysuits made entirely of cloth. "How is this supposed to help us?" he asks, angrily. "Wait.." I peer at them and pick one up. I take out a knife and slash it down the fabric. No rip, no tear. Nothing.

"It's armor. Look". I grab his spear and attempt to tear down the front. Completely fine. "Well, maybe these are useful", he admits. I know he doesn't want to. Cato never likes to admit he's wrong, even when it's blatantly obvious he is. I'm the same way. In District 2, we're taught that any admission of being wrong, any sign of not being perfect at all, really, is a sign of weakness. And weakness is not tolerated.

Clouds gather overhead and eventually it starts raining. Our camp's by the lake, so we head for the forest, hoping the trees will act as a sort of cover to the pouring rain. Our clothes are drenched by now.

We sit underneath an especially large tree, the lowest branches occasionally hitting Cato's head. "I'm going to change into my armor", I say, more out of caution, than neccessity. "Okay", he says, smirking and leaning back against the tree.

I go round the other side of the tree, pulling the suprisingly light armor on, it weighs no more than any other clothing, and then put my shirt and pants on over it. The suit goes from wrist to neck and from the ankles.

It won't protect us from, say, arrows aimed at the head, but if somehow tries to sneak up on us in the night, it'll be effective. "Well?" I ask him as I round the tree again. "Not much of a difference", he shrugs. "Good", that was the idea. If the others can tell we have a way of protecting ourselves, they'll aim for the head. I sit down beneath the tree as he goes to change too. As I sit, I feel the tiredness I've been holding back all day hit me.

He comes back and sits next to me. Fighting to stay awake, I lie my head against his shoulder. Any leftover animosity between us is gone in this moment. "I never said earlier. But...thanks. For saving my life. I would be dead if you hadn't come back when you did". "I didn't want to lose you", is all he says.

A lot of the time, I can sense what his feelings are, even when he says almost nothing. But for once, I can't. So when he pulls my face to his, I'm unprepared. But the way it feels is so nice, the way his lips feel against mine, I wrap my arms around him and pull him tighter to me. And that's how, soaking wet and in the rain, I had my first kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning I wake up to find myself curled up next to Cato again and mentally smack myself. It's not a good idea, I think, extricating myself and moving over a bit. When I'd pulled away from the kiss the night before, I'd noticed the camera from a nearby tree zooming in on us.

Reality came crashing down; where we were, who we were, who might be hunting us at that very second. So I'd made an excuse about how tired I was and turned to face away from him to go to sleep. Luckily, I wasn't lying about my fatigue and had promptly fallen asleep.

It hadn't felt good pulling away from him, turning away from him, but being in...whatever undefined state we were in was a bad idea. We were Careers. Careers were supposed to be the ruthless tributes, the ones who stayed focused.

District 2 tributes didn't need to play up a starcrossed lover angle like apparently the District Twelves did. _But it's not an angle, _my subconscious whispered. Even though it wasn't, it wouldn't help us in the arena. In fact, it would do the opposite.

I was about to stand when his hand brushed my arm. "Where're you going?" Cato asked. "Just...going to get some more water", I invented, grabbing the bottle from my pack. "Clove-", I didn't stay to hear what he was going to say, jumping up and all but running toward through the trees to the river.

I didn't want to talk him because, for right now, we couldn't be..whatever we were. It would only weaken us. We were district partners and that was all. We had to concentrate on winning.

I reached the river and bent down to fill the bottle, taking as long as I could to draw out the moment of solitude, to drown out the thoughts clamoring for attention in my head. But I could only stand there with a full bottle of water for so long and reluctantly I turned and headed back. "Here", I said handing him the now full bottle of water and then turning away to pick up my pack.

"Clove". I'm compelled to turn and look into his blue eyes. "What?" I snap, looking away. I don't want to feel what I'm feeling. Cato stares at me for a second and then shakes his head almost angrily. "Nothing".

And so, for the next few days we fall into a rhythym. We wake up, scour the forest, eat whatever we've managed to catch that day, and go to sleep. We speak to each other only when neccessary and the rest of the time we're silent.

Not a peaceful silence, but an awkward one. I don't know what to say to him anymore. I can tell he's angry with me, even though he says nothing about it. More from the way he speaks, the sharpness of his words. I'm angry at him as well, for having the idiocy to kiss me, now, in the middle of the most dangerous situation of our lives. I just mask my anger better.

Often, I think that if the rule hadn't been put into effect, if it wasn't possible that we could both go home, we would broken our alliance. There's not really any other reason to stay, aside from the fact that I try very hard not to acknowledge.

The fact that I don't want to leave him. I've never tried to analyze why that is, I've just accepted it. Most of the time, I want to kill Cato. But the constant surge of anger becomes exhausting and by the third day, I just want to be alone.

When we leave the tree that we've made our base camp that morning, I suggest looking in seperate areas today. He shrugs, the most of a response I'll get from him at this point, and goes off in the opposite direction, sword in hand. I roll my eyes at his back and turn toward the river, going through the trees alongside it, sword in hand.

I continue this way for a while, enjoying the comfortable quietness, before hearing footfalls a few yards away. A quick fast paced run, as if the person were trying to put distance between themself and someone else. Then I see her.

District Five, with her red hair flying behind her, her right hand covered in what looked like blood, running forward. I grip my knife, preparing to throw, relishing the fact that I'll finally get to take my anger out on someone. She sees me, her eyes registering fear at the sight of the knife in my hand. But I never get to throw it.

Five falls to the ground, her body convulsing as if someone were invisibly causing her great pain. She looks toward me, as if wondering if I were the one causing her agony. I'm not though. And her death is over quickly, her thin body lying still on the ground, her cannon booming out through the arena.

I spy the slightly crushed berries leaking red juice that I'd previously mistaken as blood fall from her hands as the hovercraft appears to lift her body away. Their poison must have killed her, as she'd had no other obvious injuries. Somewhat pathetic really, that someone as smart as she'd clearly been, had been killed by nothing other than a handful of berries. I move away from the hovercraft and go back the way I'd come.

About a hundred yards from the place that Five died, I stop. Voices. Not exceptionally loud, but loud enough for me to hear them. I can't make out any words over the rushing of the nearby river, but they're definitely there. Katniss and Lover Boy. I inch closer, straining to hear distinct words, but nothing.

A hand falls on my shoulder and I whip around, knife pointed out, before I remember that aside from those two, we're the only ones left. Cato eyes the knife I still have directed at his throat and stares at me until I put it away. He's about to speak when I motion for him to be quiet.

He hears them too, talking. Their words are slightly more clear now and I can pick up Katniss explaining to Lover Boy, who I now view as slightly dim witted, how he'd inadvertently killed Five with the berries he'd picked for them to eat. If we're going to kill them, if we're going to win, now is the best possible time.

Cato holds his sword, I pull the crystal handled knife I've come to favor out of my jacket and we move forward silently. I sneak up behind Lover Boy, who's still listening intently to Katniss. The crystal knife is easy to throw and finds it mark in Lover Boy's back with ease.

I have just enought time to savor Katniss's shocked expression as her boyfriend falls at her feet before Cato's sword slices her throat and she falls next to him, blood staining the green grass. Her cannon fires immediately, but Lover Boy holds out longer, watching as Katniss dies in front of him, the pain flaring in his eyes, before he's gone.

And we are the only two people left in the arena. This seeps in slowly, before I realize that its true and I look up to see Cato standing there, a flicker of a smile on his face, a ghost of the old friendliness between us, before its gone, before he remembers why he's not smiling at me anymore.

I know that his coldness toward me is justified, but that doesn't stop me from wishing that it wasn't. I move to go toward him before pausing. There's been no announcement of our victory. Claudius Templesmith hasn't come over the speaker congratulating us on our winning. He notices it too and looks around as if expecting something to happen. But it doesn't. The two bodies are removed by hovercraft, and still we wait. Until finally, the voice echoes out through the arena.


	3. Chapter 3

"Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book states that only one victor may be allowed. Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor". And then he's gone, leaving us to digest what he'd just said.

My first instinct is survival and I grip my knife tighter in my hand. It would be all too easy, the voice in my head whispers. All too easy to throw the knife, to cut him down. Wasn't this what I wanted, what I'd been working toward this whole time? To be the victor. One last kill, one last obstacle. And then freedom.

But as I thought this, I knew implicitly that I couldn't. I couldn't kill him. If I did, I wouldn't be able to live with myself. "I'm not going to kill you". He said it matter of factly, like it was obvious. I didn't believe him at first; after everything that had happened I was almost certain he'd have no issue killing me and going home to District 2.

He dropped his sword, however, ignoring the clatter it made as it hit the ground. I slowly sink to the green grass that surrounds us, placing the knife on the ground, trusting him enough to put it down, but not enough to toss it away completely.

I'm not sure what we expect to be able to do now. They're not going to pronounce us both victors simply because we say we're not going to kill each other. Suddenly, I'm so tired, exhausted, more then I've ever been in the entirety of the Games, as if a brick wall had hit me. I feel like slumping to the ground and never waking up. Which makes my choice that much easier.

"You should", I say. He turns and eyes me as if trying to assess whether or not I mean it. And it surprises me even more than it surprises him that I do. The drive to keep fighting, to keep surviving has left me.

"Do it". He shakes his head. "I'm not going to kill you", he repeats, somewhat more firmly. "Fine, I'll do it myself. Then I'll be dead and you can be victor all by yourself", I say, sure of my actions, sure that its the easier way out. "No". I watch as he pulls out the extra knife he carries in his pocket.

At first I think he is going to kill me after all and I do nothing but stand there, awaiting death. But he says, "On three then?" I blink once before I understand his meaning and I pick up the knife from the ground, almost laughing at the fact that I'd come so close to everything I'd ever wanted, only to throw it away. But it doesn't feel like I'm throwing it away. It feels like I'm about to find relief.

I meet Cato's eyes once again and realize that I'm never going to see him again. Strange to think that, given that we've spent three or four weeks without going so much as a day without seeing each other. And it's even stranger to think that he's willing to give away his chance at being victor because he doesn't want to win without me as much as much I don't want to win without him. "One". I raise my knife and he raises his. "Two". I look around at my surroundings, thinking it's not so bad to die here, in the grass, wind whispering softly. Peaceful even. "Three".

The knife has only just pierced my chest when a voice rings out. "Wait, wait! Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the victors of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games, Clove Chaterly and Cato Helamore!" The relief I feel at hearing this announcement is so sudden, that it's as if someone's punched me.

I hardly even feel the trickle of blood from the small cut I'd made. We're both getting out of here. We're both going home. I'm not sure if I hug him or if he hugs me, but suddenly we are Just as quickly though, we pull apart and everything's the same again.

Even so, I keep my eyes on his blue ones, and give him a small smile. He smiles back and for a moment we're locked in each other's gazes, until the hovercraft whirs overhead.

It's not until we're inside the hovercraft, sheperded away from each other to receive any medical attention we might need, that the complete exhaustion hits me again. I momentarily feel a needle enter my arm and a voice say, "Just something to help you rest easier".

My fighting instinct is back now, screaming at me not to be subjected to the various medical instruments in the room. But it's dulling slowly and I blink wearily determined to keep myself awake. "Sleep". This time it's a command and one I obey, my heavy eyelids closing to utter darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

Eventually, I feel myself waking up, in every way but opening my eyes. I can hear the silence of wherever I am now echo even louder than any actual noise would be. I can feel the soft sheets beneath my skin. I don't really want to wake up, I dreamily think. I don't really _need_ to wake up from this peaceful sleep. I wouldn't ever have to face the world. My left hand brushes over my right arm, and I feel something. Something that makes my eyes open, however much I didn't want to. A bright white bandage covers my upper arm, covering an injury. An injury from what, I wonder. _From Katniss's arrow_, my subconscious answers for me. My mind still struggling to get out of the hold of whatever drugs the Capitol gave me asks, _Who's Katniss? _Cato killed Katniss, I remind myself. It's that thought that jerks me back into reality. The bright white lights overhead that shine down on the room illuminate the hospital style bed I'm in, along with a small nightstand next to it and the door with the window pane inset. One wall, the one leading along the hallway, was paneled with glass as well, making me feel exposed. My first instinct is to leap away, out of this room, to find out where I am. I examine my arms, trying to find any of the various cuts and scratches I sustained during the Games. But my arms are smooth, with only the slightest of marks left. In looking at my arms, I look at my fingers, the nails of which have been cleaned and manicured. Evidently the Capitol already took care of making me look like I'd never even entered the arena. I can't stay here, I think. I need to get out. But as I move to get out of the bed, I notice a few tubes and wires connected to my body that start beeping. I stop moving and lay back. As I do, whatever they were injecting into my veins threatened to pull me back into the dark sleep I'd just escaped from. I won't fall back into unconsciousness. If I did, who knows how long it could be until I wake up. My vision blurs as I pull myself back up to a sitting position. _I can't stay here. I need to get out._ A wave of claustrophobia comes over me and I yank hard at the strap, putting in any and all strength I have left, ignoring the massive pain. As I do so, I notice through the windowed wall that a passing doctor has taken note of my apparently futile struggle. He turns and a few moments later another doctor steps in, clipboard in hand. "Get me out of here", I restrain myself from screaming. "All in good time, all in good time. We need to wait for a few days before you can leave, make sure you're healing correctly", he responds not even looking up. Infuriated, I raise my voice to say, "I feel fine! What difference does it make if you let me out a day or two early?" "There are arrangements to be made", he goes on a bit about my arm injury and what the tubes in my arm are doing. I tune most of this out and am lost in my own world for a while. "And your stylist would like to see you, to discuss plans for the upcoming victory ceremony". At this my attention veers sharply back to him. Maraine. I'd almost forgotten that I'd ever had a stylist, that there had been a world outside the Games at all. I fall back against the pillows they'd propped up against the headboard of the bed. "I'll tell her to speak to you in a day or so, once you're more rested", he says, mistaking my surprise for fatigue. "No", I jolt back up. "I'll see her now". He raises his eyebrows, but doesn't argue as he leaves the room. I don't really want to see Maraine much, but I would rather talk to anyone than be left alone in this insane asylum of a room. The door swings open again and a head of bright blue-blonde hair pops through. "Well, well, well. Lovely to see _you_ again". It surprises me that it's good to see her too. So I say, "Same to you". I see surprise flash over face as well. I don't blame her, I'm not an affectionate type of person, especially not with anyone from the Capitol. But she smiles at me, making her purple facial gems flash, and I can tell she appreciates it. "Now then. The president would like the victory ceremonies to occur as soon as possible." The victory ceremonies. All my life I'd dreamed of winning the Games, of creating a better life for myself. But I'd never thought about what that life would be like. I'd spent years training for the Games, and it had been the only thing I'd been good, even great, at. Now that I didn't have that, what did I have? "That would mean, preferably as soon as the doctors see fit to release you." _Release me. _As if I didn't feel enough like a caged animal already, what with the being confined down, the sedatives, and the windowed wall. "I feel fine", I say again. This is a lie; my arrow wound still sends pain through my arm whenever I moved it too abruptly and black dots clouded my vision occasionally. I'd say anything to be able to leave this room though. "Nevertheless. They want you here for another twenty-four hours before letting you leave". Defeated, my shoulders fall a bit. Apparently I can say I feel fine however much I like, but no one's going to believe me. I sigh, and as I do, I'm aware of a small bandage over my heart. And that brings my mind to another question. "Is he alright?" To Maraine's credit, she didn't have to ask who "he" was, although it would probably have been obvious to anyone. "About in the same condition as you, from what I've heard, maybe a bit better. But my information is limited; I'm not _his _stylist". "Can I see him?" The question comes out involuntarily, I'd meant to dismiss it as a passing thought. Once I say it though, I realize how much I want to see him. Why, I've no idea. But I do. "You're not even allowed to leave your bed for at least two days, how is it that you think you'd be able to go see him? And once you're allowed to leave, the opening ceremonies will happen almost immediately after. So no, you can't see him until then". I fall silent, not sure there's anything left to say. "Well, then, I'll be back tomorrow to discuss plans", she gives me one of the Capitol's favored three-finger waves and disappears out the door and down the hall, before I can stop her from leaving me alone in this prison.


	5. Chapter 5

The next day passes so slowly I catch myself actually watching the clock in the corner. I was ready to beg for something to knock me out, just so I could spend the time in blissful unawareness. At some point, Maraine comes back, assessing me to see what she should be dressing me in, but I tune out most of it, not really caring whether she dresses me in puffy pink feathers at this point.

I'm the victor (one of the victors) of the Hunger Games, I have survived hell, I'm above pettiness over a dress. But finally the moment comes when I'm released. 

Maraine ushers me into a white room and almost immediately her three assistants rush toward me, yanking me toward the mirrored left wall. A comb is suddenly through my hair, brushing out any tangles I may have accumulated during my three days of purgatory. My face is wiped down and then made up again with various powders and creams from different pots.

It surprises me how little any of this superficiality I care about now. Before, how I looked affected how many sponsors I'd get, which affected how I'd do in the arena. But now, now I don't give a shit about any of it. I had won and no one could take that away from me.

But I have to admit, the finished result isn't bad. In fact, it might the best look she's created for me yet. The dress I'm wearing (of course it has to be a dress, anything else would be a travesty) is made of green silk, the deepest forest green, a color Maraine picked, I'm sure, because it matches my eyes almost exactly, that reaches only a little past my knees. My eyelids are painted with a creamy eyeshadow and mascara, and my lips are painted with a light pink sheen. My long dark brown hair's left to fall wherever it may.

All of my physical imperfections, scars mostly, are covered with whatever magic makeup Maraine decided to have the makeup technicians use on me. Yet despite the makeup, this is the first outfit Maraine's chosen for me that makes me look like…myself. Not like some façade created for an event, a spectacle to be witnessed and discussed. Just a person. Just me.

"Thank you". It's an unusual thing for me to say, I can count on one hand the number of times I've said it in my life, and I can tell that Maraine knows that. I just want her to know that I appreciate not being made a show of. She nods. "You're welcome". She looks me up and down and grabs a pair of black strappy shoes with tiny heels and slips them onto my feet.

"There. Quite near perfect, or as close to it as we could get with you". I roll my eyes at her and slowly make my way to the door, unused to heels as I am.

We make our way to the set, and I wait on the side to be announced. Caesar Flickerman, blue hair shining with glitter, smiles his unnaturally white smile and says, "And now, ladies and gentlemen, I give you the victors of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games, Clove Chaterly and Cato Helamor!" I walk out onto the stage, and as I do, I see Cato approaching from the opposite side.

I nearly stop moving across the stage. I knew in my subconscious that I was going to be seeing him again now, but I didn't really think about the reality of that. He's dressed in a white suit with green accents the same color as mine. I suppose, now that we're victors together, it suits us better to match.

"Here they are, folks!" Caesar hollers, as the crowd applauds and shouts in excitement. I sit down on one of the two cushy chairs settled across from Caesar's, unsteadily and Cato takes the one next to mine. He smiles somewhat tentatively at me and I smile somewhat tentatively back.

And then the complete recap starts. I see all of the important points of the games, watch myself on the screen, but I feel removed, like it's just another Hunger Games and I'm just another spectator. Like it's not really me up there, being broadcast to all of Panem. But it is, and it's not until I see Marvel getting killed by Katniss that it begins to feel real.

From that point on, my eyes are fixed to the screen. I watch as the Feast plays out again, as I nearly die. I witness the deaths of Thresh, Five, Loverboy, and Katniss. It's surreal watching my life as though it were a form of entertainment. In fact, the only that I don't watch happen again, is Cato's and my kiss.

It almost makes me laugh that the one thing the Capitol really would have eaten up about us, they didn't even know ever happened. But that's more than fine with me. I know that the Capitol would much have preferred it if District 12 had won. After all, those two were their beloved star-crossed lovers, the ones that the Capitol had been in love with from the beginning. In fact, I'm surprised they're applauding us at all. We should be hated by them, we killed the two that everyone wanted to win. I think our only redeeming quality in their eyes was that we nearly died to save each other.

We watch that too, and then it's over. Three weeks of my life in just a few hours, though it felt more like three years. Amazing how the deaths of people that I got to know seem so inconsequential to the rest of the world, but how they seem like such large moments in my life.

I remember every death I caused, every person who's death I witnessed. Not with regret, I don't regret killing them. But with the feeling that it should matter more than it does to these people, because I know that I will remember those three weeks exactly in my mind for the rest of my life.

We answer a few more questions from Caesar when it's over, but I tune out for most of it. I'm not really in the mood for the ever jovial Capitol attitude. It's not until the final question that I get beyond yes's and no's and actually answer. "So tell me, why was it that the two of you decided you'd rather die than kill the other?" I lift my eyes up, and face him straight on, my eyes locking onto his, so that he knows I mean exactly what I say.

"Because it wouldn't have been worth it". I know that if I had killed Cato back in that arena, then it would have haunted me forever. The ghosts in my mind would never leave me alone, staying with me, like they stay with some of the other victors. The one's who are so lost in their despair that they can never come back out of it, turning to drinking or morphling to try to cure something that can never be fixed.

My response seems to throw Caesar for a moment, but like the television professional he is, he quickly bounces back. "Well, there you have it folks- the bond of true friendship is stronger than anything. Unfortunately, that's all we have time for right now, so let's say goodbye to Cato and Clove!" Caesar smiles his huge white smile, and we rise and make our way off the stage.

Maraine and another familiar face approach us. Alyssinia Rettwin, wobbly as ever on her heels, tentatively started speaking. "Our train leaves soon, we ought to be going. You can change on the train if you'd like". I snort. "Obviously, we do". But I can't muster up my usual contempt for Alyssinia. I'm too mixed up inside.

We go to the train station, boarding the sleek silver train that will take us home. I say goodbye to Maraine, sparing her a smile as I leave. Cato disappears, presumably to go change and I do the same, grabbing a pair of soft velvety green pants and a black shirt, slipping off my high heels to go barefoot. And then I go to find him.

He's standing at the very back of the train, at the window that faces the shining city of the Capitol. The train starts to move, slowly and then building speed, the Capitol slowly fading into the distance. "So", Cato says. "So", I say. "It's really all over". "Yeah. It really is". I come and stand next to him at the window, watch it all disappear.

"What do we do now?" I ask. "We live", he says. And then he kisses me and we go away from the past, toward the future.


End file.
